This is a piece of poetry from my wife. It really resonated with me.
This place, this now, you can see it
you can see what it is too, beside
the quiet border you trace around it
this is a home town too, among other things
among everything else. I was born here,
in this empty lot, that was a hospital
in a room with one rectangular window
packed with people I would never see again,
including my mother. Cities are cruel that way
but not all together so, there is a mother here
in the rubble and the dust, and as far
as I ever got I came back to it,
I learned to love it
to love myself in it.
The west was won in a saloon
over a poker hand
and a screaming slot machine.
This place remembers even the drinks that were spilled
the out turned pockets, and moment before
the wheel stopped turning and any number
was a winner…
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